


Green Jasper

by April_Valentine



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombies, First Meetings, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 03:48:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7492353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/April_Valentine/pseuds/April_Valentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In episode 4 of season 4, Indifference, Daryl finds a piece of green jasper on the way to the veterinary college to locate medicines for the sick people back at the prison. Remembering my time working at a bead and rock shop, I looked up the stone and its properties. A story started to take shape in my head. And it's Eyeus' birthday and I thought it would be perfect to write it for her!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Green Jasper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eyeus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeus/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, Eyeus! It's not finished yet but it will be soon. I have a lot of things planned for the final part that I know you'll appreciate and hopefully enjoy. You are a great friend and fellow Rickyl lover and I've enjoyed our many late night contemplations on their relationship and the writing life.

[](http://s259.photobucket.com/user/AprilValentine_bucket/media/green_jasper_header_zpsi9kvmofz.gif.html)

Rick finally gave up on his attempt to straighten his desk. He’d been at it for five minutes and instead of managing to get his paperwork in some kind of order, it was actually getting messier. He was in no mood this afternoon, not for pushing papers around, not after the week they’d had. Two killings and three rapes to investigate had left him tense and angry, more than other crimes affected him. King County usually didn’t have this much going on but it was mid-summer and with the heat came short tempers and an escalation in domestic violence and property damage. He was used to that, but death… that was something that always got to him. One had been an older man, a nice farmer who never meant anyone any harm, gunned down by some drugged out mental patient, and the other victim was not much older than his son Carl, fatally shot by his own father in a rage. 

The rapes were just as bad. Young girls, out on their way home from the movies, shopping, one making a late night run to the pharmacy to get medicine for her sick baby – that was the kind of thing that was only supposed to happen in the big cities, not here in rural Georgia. Seemed like no place was really safe any more, Rick figured.

But he’d gotten the rapist at least. He and his partner, Michonne, had caught him last night at two a.m. just as he had grabbed another young woman outside a bar. They had taken him into custody and spent the night questioning him, finally getting a confession around dawn. 

Now it was all over but the paperwork and Rick was off duty, told he could go home because of the late night. He gave up on trying to straighten up his desk and just grabbed his Stetson and jacket, nodding at Michonne and the guys coming in for the day shift, saying good-bye to Sheriff Horvath as he left.

He really didn’t know what to do with himself once he was out of the office though. It was nearly ten o’clock and Rick was too wired to go home. It was too quiet there, in his tiny apartment he’d moved to after his divorce. His ex-wife Lori had Carl for the week so even though it was summer, his boy wasn’t around for Rick to take fishing or to the carnival that was in town. He really didn’t think he could sleep either. 

He left his car in the parking lot and instead ambled down the street, thinking maybe he’d go get some breakfast at the diner. He ate half his meals at Green’s, Maggie would bring him his coffee and his usual burger and fries without him even having to order most of the time. They had great pancakes and omlettes in the morning, but Rick wasn’t hungry. 

He passed by the diner, by the bookstore -- though he briefly thought about picking up some books on plumbing repair because he was sick of waiting for the super to come fix his shower again – he wasn’t in the mood to stand there staring at shelves with books on them either. Plus, he figured he could get just as good information for free on the internet. He also wandered past the ladies clothing store as that held no interest. Maybe the sporting goods place. Carl wanted a new bike. No. Rick wasn’t in the right frame of mind for comparing prices and he knew Carl would have his own ideas on colors and styles.

He knew he was thinking too much about the cases he’d worked on this week, about the lives lost or forever changed. He wished he could do more, stop criminals before they did the awful things, have a rational discussion with some guy before he robbed the gas station or got in a fight with somebody just because he didn’t like the color of their skin. Rick shook his head at his folly. Maybe he should have been a social worker or something. Not that it seemed like any of them had managed to fix the world’s problems either.

He stopped at the corner, just idly looking around, wishing there was someplace he could go that would make him feel better. Or relax at least. Or someplace that would actually be different. Interesting. Enough to take his mind off things. 

Was there really such a place, he wondered. Or was the sheer fact that he was going through his days alone, now that he was divorced, that was the real problem? Maybe it wasn’t an interesting place he needed. Maybe a person could help him. Rick hadn’t been interested in dating though. Maybe he just needed a friend.

He took off his hat and ran a hand through his sweaty curls, squinting up at the sun, feeling at loose ends and even more tense than he had been before he left work. There weren’t many people on the street at this time of day. He guessed everybody else had someplace to be, someone to be with. 

Across the street, a flapping flag caught his attention. It was hanging over the door of a smaller store, and in huge purple letters proclaimed “Grand Opening.” Rick realized that the store on the corner had been empty for awhile and guessed somebody had finally rented out the space, hoping to do some business. He crossed the street, slightly curious as to what kind of place had been set up there.

The sign on the window read “Crystal Quarry” in bold letters. There were books and candles on display, and an array of stones of all shapes and sizes. Some were crystals with points and facets and Rick figured that was where the name of the place came from. It looked sort of New Agey but as he had nothing better to do and he was at least a little curious, Rick reached for the door and pushed it open.

A little bell rang as the door slid open. The smell of incense reached his nose and Rick fought the urge to sneeze. He looked around – rows of books on stones and crystals. Tools and things in the next row. Was this place for hunting rocks? Buying them? He wandered a little further inside, saw more tools. Maybe carving rocks? 

“Hi, can I help you?” a gruff voice called. 

Rick realized that the new owner probably had been hoping for customers and now he would have to explain that he was only browsing. He hoped the guy wouldn’t be pushy or expect him to know stuff about rocks or anything like that.

He glanced toward the counter. The guy who had spoken was standing behind it, his expression a mixture of hope and wariness. Long-haired and lanky, wearing a leather vest that looked more like it belonged on a guy on a Harley, the man seemed too shy to be a shop owner, his eyes daring from Rick’s gaze even as he asked the requisite question of his customer.

“Hi,” Rick answered. “Just lookin’.”

He heard a not to well hidden sigh and felt bad for the guy. He probably had already heard that a thousand times. How could anybody make a dime selling this kind of stuff, Rick wondered. 

He ambled over toward the counter. “You just open up?”

The guy nodded at the “Grand Opening” banner, a match for the one outside, that hung on the wall behind him. “What was your first clue?” he asked, his mouth curving up on one side.

Rick grinned back at him, feeling sheepish. “What kind of place is this?”

“Rock shop,” the owner informed him. “Don’t tell me. You’ve never been in one before.”

Rick moved closer. “I never heard of one before.” He figured he might as well admit it. 

“So, uh,” the owner said, looking Rick over, noting his badge and gun, “the cops always check out the new stores in town then?”

“I’m a deputy sheriff,” Rick told him, knowing that to most people that made little difference. “And I’m off duty just now.” He gazed around at the stuff on display on the counter, there were small polished stones and bunches of beads in little mismatched tea cups, rolls of leather cord and what looked like twine and jewelry chains. He took off his hat and set it on the counter, being careful not to knock anything over. “Had a long night so I’ve got some free time.” He didn’t know what else to say, so he extended his hand. “Rick Grimes.”

The other man hesitated a moment and again Rick thought he looked a bit shy for someone who had opened a store front business. After a second though, he took Rick’s hand in his calloused, warm one and shook, his grip firm and not unfriendly.

“I’m Daryl,” he said, his voice that same gravel like tone that reminded Rick of the stones around them. The guy was tanned and his face was unshaven. He looked like he spent a lot of time outdoors, maybe hunting rocks. 

“You the owner?” Rick asked.

“Co-owner,” Daryl told him, ducking his head a bit and seeming to chew on his lips. “A friend persuaded me to start it up with her.”

“I see,” Rick said automatically, though he really didn’t. “A friend?” Probably his girl friend, he supposed.

Daryl shook his head as if to keep Rick from jumping to conclusions. “She’s a widow. She knows beads. I know rocks. Said we should find something to keep us both outta trouble.” As if that explained everything.

“You know rocks?” Rick found himself asking. “What does that mean? You got a quarry someplace?”

“Used to work in one,” Daryl informed him. “But I always was a rock hound. Liked findin’ ‘em. Identifyin’ ‘em. Learning what they were for.”

There was the sound of country in his voice, of backwoods roads and deep green trees. Rick noticed he had broad shoulders and his arms in their sleeveless shirt were muscled and powerful looking. He could imagine this guy using a sledgehammer to break rocks as easily as he could picture him holding a sparkling crystal up to the sunlight. 

“Um,” he asked, realizing he was sort of staring at the guy, “what they’re _for_?” 

The guy gave a snort, as if Rick was asking why the Eskimos had fifty different words for snow. “They have uses,” he said, explaining virtually nothing. “Crystals for healing, meditating, curing stuff.”

“What? Stones can cure things?” 

“Lotta people think so,” Daryl said, not really committing to whether he did or not.

Rick snorted in disbelief. He glanced down at the counter and picked a stone at random. It was green, both dark and light, smooth in texture with lines running through it that didn’t look like cracks. “Okay, what does this cure?”

He held out the stone in his open palm, almost daring the man to supply the information. 

“You even know what that is?” Daryl countered, meeting his eyes.

Rick hesitated. “It’s green.”

“So’s grass.”

Rick sighed. “Okay, I have no idea what kind of green stone it is. You own the shop, tell me about it.”

Daryl folded his arms. “You really have nothing better to do?”

Rick stubbornly met his eyes. “No, I really don’t. Tell me about it.”

Daryl sighed and took the stone from Rick’s hand, his warm fingers brushing against Rick’s palm. 

“It’s jasper,” Daryl said. “Green jasper.”

Rick tried to think. Maybe he’d heard the term before. Something Lori must have mentioned at one time or another.

“And what is green jasper for?” 

“Well, some people carry it as a talisman. It’s great for warding off paranoid delusions, entity attachments and keeping nightmares away.”

Rick snorted. “Some of the guys I arrested this week should have had some on them.” He paused. “What’s an entity attachment?”

“It’s like… a spirit that attaches itself to you, maybe something evil,” Daryl said.

“So…” Rick mused, “you’re telling me that crazy people believe they’re inhabited by the devil and that keeping some of this green jasper in their pocket will make them sane?”

Daryl shrugged. “In a manner of speaking.”

“I hope the rapist I picked up last night doesn’t have a lawyer who believes this shit.”

“You are really weird, man,” Daryl told him.

“ _I’m_ weird? You’re telling me about carrying rocks to ward off evil spirits.”

Daryl rolled his eyes at Rick. “Not just that. Some people just like to keep it in their pocket and rub it to help calm their nerves.”

That made a little more sense to Rick. It was like holding a rabbit’s foot or a football player rubbing his helmet before heading out on the field. 

“Other people think it can help with obsessive compulsive disorder. Or for quitting smoking. And with fertility.”

He couldn’t tell from the look on Daryl’s face whether he was jerking his chain or not. “How do you know all this?”

“Common knowledge?” Daryl asked and this time Rick was sure he was joking. “Like I said, I’m a rock hound. You can’t collect rocks for years and not run into the superstitions and uses for them.” He waved his hand in the direction of the book shelves on the far wall. “I have plenty of books that explain crystal healing and which rocks work for which purposes.” 

Rick followed his gaze, marveling at the concept. “And you think you can make a living selling these around here?”

“Well…” Daryl said, looking stubborn. “That’s not all we sell. I got tools for digging, carving, polishing stones. Beads, stringing materials and stuff for makin’ jewelry. Incense and burners.”

Rick rubbed at his nose. “I noticed the incense.” He leaned over the counter a bit. “It’s all legal, right?”

Daryl met his eyes straight on this time. “Perfectly.”

Rick wasn’t so sure. Even if the incense was all right, it could probably be used to cover up certain other scents that came from things that weren’t legal, but he was off duty and he didn’t feel like hassling the guy. Besides, their conversation was more… the only word Rick could think of was _flirtatious_ … than it was confrontational. 

He had wandered into the store simply because he had nothing better to do. He was feeling lonely and out of sorts. Now he had someone interesting to talk to about something as far removed from the work he did as it could possibly be. And the person he was talking to was interesting and different from most of the people Rick knew. Rick didn’t usually go around checking out other men but Daryl had a presence that was definitely compelling. He was good-looking in a purely masculine way, that called to Rick on a primal level he’d never recognized before.

He leaned against the counter, canting his hip toward the other man. “So, is that all it does? Keep the bad spirits away?” He couldn’t quite believe the teasing, seductive tone his own voice had taken on but he didn’t back down, meeting Daryl’s eyes and practically begging him to take notice of him.

Daryl leaned toward Rick, pressing his own hips against the counter separating them, and the look in his eyes as he focused Rick was hot and interested.

“Oh, there’s more. Much more,” he said, running his tongue over his bottom lip slowly.

Rick should have been surprised at the jolt to his system the sultry gesture caused. 

But oddly enough, he wasn’t.


End file.
